Author's note: Please leave comments and let me know your thoughts as I post each chapter. I'm planning to publish this book, and would be grateful for your feedback.
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Chapter 1
Rosenrot tried to warm her chilled fingers with her breath. Heavy clouds made the day feel later than it actually was, rolling gray and depressing overhead. The leaves crunched under her careful footsteps, and twigs rustled and clawed at her frock coat. A sea of red surrounded her—trees and brush red as blood with autumn—as she navigated the path that had once been a road, now an overgrown trail through the forest.
Hidden above the valley, in the foothills of the mountains, some said there was an ancient castle, and whose masters had once ruled over the town snug in the valley below.
Rosen was new to Freudendorf Town. Her drunk of a father had moved him and her motherless self here to this quaint, tucked away place of half-timbered buildings (which reminded her of gingerbread houses) and cobblestone streets. He was hiding from the debt collectors, and what better way to do it than in a town few knew of?
Dad said the world had changed a lot since World War 3, and the following Solar Storm Wipeout. He used that as an excuse for his behavior and lack of desire to earn an honest wage, claiming that the world owed him for his past childhood hardships.
Rosen tried not to feel lonely and bored, having no friends to talk to, but busied herself with exploring the new town environment and reading old books. Freudendorf kids eyed her with suspicion like a newcomer invading their peaceful lives whenever she walked by.
The surrounding foothills and sharp mountains stood like giants ringing the horizon every which way she turned, guarding against the outside world beyond the valley—or keeping them locked inside.
Donning her old frock coat earlier that morning, she had ventured out, wandering the town’s narrow streets. The sun was fading in and out between amassing clouds. Somehow the overcast weather made the autumn leaves stand out more vividly—reds, bright oranges and splotchy yellows glowing with a different light.
While wandering, she stumbled upon a dim library, and there picked up a book which spoke of a castle in the foothills. The cover seemed to indicate it was more a recorded history than a fictional tale, and had chapters on other facts about the town, such as the old salt mines: what used to be the town’s main source of commerce, long ago, a rare type of salt.
No one used the mines anymore, since they were located in the western foothills—the forbidden place, according to local gossip.
The book was tattered, clearly something old and forgotten. She’d found it at the far back of the library, where the lamplight barely reached.
When she asked the library owner, he didn’t say much about it, only that it was a book from way back when. The castle in the western foothills was an abandoned place now, he told her, except for the rumored Nachzehrer—the Beast of the Night.
“Beast of the Night?”
“Ja, a beast dwells within that forest. Terrifying creature. No one dares go near it.” The librarian leaned down, his glasses reflecting lamplight. “It’s forbidden territory, those western mountains where the castle sits. Don’t you go near it.”
Now, here she was, seeking out that forbidden territory, hiking up the first path she came across veering up and away from the town. It was getting late, and an early moon hid somewhere behind the clouds chasing the sun away.
Rosen drew her frayed coat up closer around her neck as a breeze whistled past. Blood leaves danced and swayed. Between gaps in the sea of red above, she could see the clouds frothing angrily and forming precarious spirals. She’d get caught in the storm soon, if she didn’t hurry, but curiosity kept her climbing higher.
The air smelled earthy and sweet of rotting leaves. She wiped her dripping nose; it was getting colder. Minutes seemed to inch by, and her shoes felt heavier going uphill. She tipped her head up to the sky one more time, and a gray needle rose to pierce through the mix of forest and storm.
A tower spire.
Her heart did a backflip in her chest, and her footsteps quickened, the spire bobbing up and down in her vision as she ran.
When a wall of bushes obstructed the path, she slowed and worked her way through, shoving and snapping twigs, ignoring their painful scratch.
Aaaah!
Rosen froze. The strange cry came from up ahead, an echo rolling past her and weaving through the sentinel tree trunks.
She waited for a moment, then crept forward. The bushes opened a fraction and she peeked through.
Beyond was a clearing: where the path became pavestones riddled with weeds and crawling vines, a wide area before a gate which was too far away to see clearly.
The strange cry came again.
Her pulse jolted. She angled her head through the leaves so that her gaze could rove over the clearing, but didn’t let herself move any more than that, in case whatever it was might see her.
She spotted something then. A dark shadow rose from the pavestones like a wraith, with something of a cape billowed around its undefined features.
Two perfect circles glowed, eyes like silver coins, tipped up to the sky.
It cried or howled—she couldn’t tell which, a sound that rubbed shivers down her spine. The silvery eyes lowered, and slowly turned her way.
A strangled gasp escaped her throat, and she fell backwards.
Vainly trying to stop her fall and the noise she was making, she landed on her palms and backside. Autumn did not let such movements be quiet. The snapping and crunching of dying leaves and underbrush were as loud as a shot gun.
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Something like a growl echoed in place of the strange wail from the clearing beyond the bushes.
Rosen scrambled to get up, turning noisily onto her knees and pushing her body up into a run, all caution thrown aside.
Leaves crunched at her back—the wraith was coming after her!
She ran, jumping fallen branches and thick brambles, clutching her coat tightly to keep from getting caught on twigs, hurrying downhill, down the messy red path.
She didn’t slow, didn’t stop. Didn’t turn to look and see when whatever it was finally gave up the chase. She ran with burning lungs back into town.
***
Six Years Later
Rosenrot tucked a stray wisp of lavender hair back behind her ear. She liked this new color and cut: an angled bob, high in the back and low brushing her shoulders in the front. Compared to all the long, braided hairstyles going around town, this was more unique and suited her complexion. She added a small braid on the side, though, so as not to be too wildly different.
She shifted the basket looped around her left upper arm, tucking what remained of her elbow up like a hook to keep it from falling. The basket held scant groceries of bread and eggs—all she could afford to buy this week, thanks to her father drinking money away.
They’d been poor to begin with—had been for years—and his bad habits kept drying up every bit she tried to save. It didn’t matter how well she hid the cash; he seemed to have a special knack for finding it—a well-developed talent that she wished he would put to good use and go get a job.
Really, was that too much to ask? She huffed.
Her nose breathed in the aroma of fresh baking as she walked through town, morning bakeries at work filling the shelves with breads, pastries and gingerbread. It was the best scent, other than old book pages. She adjusted a book under her other elbow, longing to find a moment to dive into its pages.
“Guten morgen to you, fair Rosenrot!”
She almost missed a step.
Rosen turned her head, despite the protests whirling in her stomach. “Oh, guten morgen, Duke Gasto,” she forced herself to reply. Her feet continued forward, not wanting to be rude but not wanting to encourage further talk, either, with the richest young man in town. His mansion loomed not far away.
For some odd reason Gasto had a crush on her, ever since the day they’d met several years ago at Freudendorf’s spring festival. Though why he kept pursuing her, when every signal she gave made it clear she wanted nothing romantic to do with him, was beyond her. He was as relentless and dumb as a donkey, and his pride knew no bounds. She couldn’t stand the way he flaunted his wealth in people’s faces.
“Looks like the beginning of a promising day, doesn’t it?” Gasto flipped his head of lush toffee toned hair back, flexing his average shoulders as if they had muscle. His grin flashed long canines—a quirky genetic trait which all Freudendorf townspeople seemed to have.
Gasto fell into step with her, even as she tried to rush ahead. His long legs easily kept up. She clenched the book and basket tighter.
“A promising day, indeed,” she said, leaving all emotion out of her voice. But it didn’t seem to faze him.
“Yes, yes. It is as if autumn is promising the town a budding romance this year!”
Ugh, was that an attempt to make her think romantic thoughts and fall for him?
“Romance between, say, me and a certain beauty of lavender hair?” He hooked his arm around hers and gave a wink. She nearly gagged.
“You’re thinking of spring. Autumn promises different things,” she replied curtly. “Autumn brings the promise of cold and silence, withering life and gravestones, and stories that will haunt you during the full moon.”
Gasto’s mouth dangled open, so caught off-guard that he couldn’t find words. His face could only make an awkward smile while his brain busied to find an answer. Before he could recover, she freed her arm and turned toward the library.
He recovered and hurried after her.
“Autumn has more to offer than morbid things, I’m sure!” He jogged, hand reaching for her. “It’s full of color and life, just like our relationship can be! Why, I could make all of your father’s debts disappear in an instant, and give you all that your heart desires. I don’t mind if you’re missing half an arm—in fact, you seem quite capable despite it! Come, Rosenrot. Let us explore the romantic feelings we share for one anoth—”
She shut the library door behind her, blocking him out, holding the worn knob tight as he tried to jiggle it open from the other side. She held her breath and waited, hand straining. From the desk, the librarian lifted a thick eyebrow at her. She flashed him a pleasant grin, to which he rolled his eyes.
Gasto’s words were a muffled noise. “You’ll come around, I know you will. There’s nobody else more eligible to be your husband in this small town, than me,” he went on. “I’ll be waiting for you.” He drew out the last word like a singing note, and she shuddered.
The tugging stopped, and footsteps pattered away.
She pressed her ear to the door.
He’d left. Finally.
She sagged with a sigh, letting out the stress, then turned to the rows of books for comfort.
“Should I dare ask?” came the old man’s gruff question.
She shook her head with a nervous smile.
“Then I’ll pretend you came back looking for a book you left behind,” he commented. “My place isn’t a lovers’ hide-and-seek meadow, I hope you know.”
Rosen ignored his grumble. The man enjoyed complaining and shooting snarky remarks, none to be taken seriously. She did, however, take time to browse further back into the library’s rows—burning away an hour to make sure Gasto had really gone. She soon found herself in the history section.
She let her fingers trail across book spines down the aisle. Worn fabric, smooth leather, bumpy scales—she savored the many textures. Her hand was stopped as it bumped into a book that’d been pulled halfway out. Curious, she took it out the rest of the way, and recognized the title: the book about Freudendorf history, the one that mentioned a castle and ruling family, and had inspired her as a tween to go out looking for it.
She closed the book and shoved it back. That memory still stuck with her—the unearthly wail, the wraith with glowing silver eyes—it had haunted her nightmares for many nights since.
A piece of her was still curious—the dangerous explorer who abandoned all reason piece of her. But she hadn’t gone near the path up the western rising foothills since, the forbidden area that everybody knew of and nobody spoke of.
A book titled Monsters & Beasts of Mythology called for Rosen to pluck it off a shelf. She thumbed through depictions of furry beasts, fanged humanoids, and scaly creatures.
‘The Nachzehrer, Beast of the Night…’ she recalled. ‘What was that creature I saw?’
The werewolf drawing looked too furry to be it, though the creature she had seen wore a cape. A wraith, then? Possibly? It made more sense than anything else—well, as much sense as thinking you saw a mythological creature could be called sense.
The next page over depicted a vampire.
A revolting shudder jolted through her. Those creatures definitely did not exist. The dead could not come back to life as blood-sucking monsters. The very notion was idiotic! Her dead mother would never come back to life as some evil thing.
She closed the book, a bit too forcefully. She would sooner meet and chat with a wraith than a vampire. She wanted to slap sense into the people who enjoyed dressing up as vampires for the costume festival.
Rosen made her way out—Gasto nowhere in sight—back toward home with her basket. The half-timbered apartment they lived in reminded her of sculpted gingerbread and icing on the outside, but inside it was a stuffy place packed with families, dusty air and too-narrow stairs. She teetered and creaked her way up the dim atmosphere to their door.
She smelled Dad before she saw him. Her nose cringed as she entered and spotted him sprawled down on the rug, a bottle of something beside his hand.
He grinned sluggishly up at her and tried to wave. “The girl’s back!” he slurred. “Got some bacon n’ eggs to freshen up mah noggin’ from all this buzz-buzzing? Won’t leave mah ears, dernit!” He swatted his head as if at an insect, missing the target.
She stared down at his drunkenness. “Bacon? Who around here has that kind of luxury! We’ll never be able to afford bacon, thanks to you.”
“Now, now.” He sat up, rocking side to side like an unsteady boat. “Does that be any way t’ talk to yer good ol’ father?”
“Good?” she scoffed and plopped the basket on the table.
It would be eggs and bread for every breakfast, lunch and dinner this week.